


And Remember Me

by faithfulviewer (malfoytheunanxious)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Romance, Twelfth Doctor Era, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-09 20:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7815805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfoytheunanxious/pseuds/faithfulviewer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes I can remember something about Clara Oswald I thought I had forgotten forever. I decided to record all these little memories of Clara in this book as I remember them. This way, even if I forget these memories again, I can still read them and know that they've been real. So that next time I'll meet Clara maybe I'll be able to recognize her." [12th Doctor POV, Whouffaldi]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fly

_**And Remember Me** _

Chapter 1 – Fly

The TARDIS is floating slowly in deep space. Inside, everything is quiet. The Doctor has probably just saved another planet, or stopped a civilization from being erased from history, or invented some new gadgets. But now he just enjoys a moment of quietness before a new storm approaches.

The mild sound of the TARDIS console beeping gently in the background is the only sound that fills the silence. That, and his footsteps. The Doctor climbs the stairs and strolls by the library upstairs. He stops for a second to touch the spine of _The Time Traveler's Wife_. He used to secretly hide one of his TARDIS keys inside it, before Clara stole them all, he vaguely recalls. What did she steal them for? He can't bring himself to remember that.

His hand moves to the near small set of drawers, and opens one of them. He used to keep some sleep patches there, where are they gone? Oh, Clara took them once for some reason, yes. She probably had trouble sleeping, time travel makes for some hell of a jet lag. Inside the drawer, now the cover of his _2000 Year Diary_ barely fits next to his yellow yo-yo. He quickly browse through it. The fight against the Mire at a Viking village is one of the latest entries. He remembers how he defeated them precisely, but he can't quite put his fingers on the foggy memory of him dancing with someone in the process. What an unlikely thing to do for him. Did he just dreamed it all?

Below his _2000 Year Diary_ , a new journal lies alone in the small drawer. The Doctor puts aside his diary, and grasps the new book. On its smoke-grey, sober cover, five letters are inscribed in shiny red: _Clara_. He opens the cover of the book. Resting on the first page, a single hemerocallis petal. He brings it to his nose, as if its already lost scent could help him remember, then puts it back where it belongs. Turning the page, a couple of paragraphs welcome him. The handwriting is definitely his.

> _When you live as long as a Time Lord, you inevitably forget something. You forget the unimportant things, the little things, the eye colours, the weather, the food, because you simply don't bother to remember. But I always remember my friends. I never thought for a minute that I could forget one of the most important people I've ever met. And I genuinely thought I would have recognized her if I'd ever met her again. But I was wrong. Meeting her in the diner was like talking to a weirdly familiar stranger at a bus stop; you may feel inexplicably drawn to each other and open to each other, but yet they still remain strangers to you. I still cannot picture her face properly, even though we talked and I've seen her painting on the TARDIS door, because my brain didn't quite record it. For me, she was just a random passerby. She could have been anyone. And that feels so wrong. Because if I remember something right, is that Clara Oswald was not anyone._
> 
> _The memory of her comes in waves. The ones you've loved can never be completely deleted from your mind, I believe, no matter how much you or some Gallifreyan technology try. I remember most of the facts, the things we did together, the places we went to, but I can't see her there with me in my memories. It's like knowing that a blurry image always accompanied me, but never being able to put it into focus. I remember the jokes I told her, but I can't remember her smile. Sometimes, though, I can see a tiny detail shine through the fog, and remember something about Clara I thought I had forgotten forever. It's just the little things, never the complete picture, but it's better than nothing._
> 
> _Unfortunately, these memories are not always accessible to me. Sometimes, something pops up in my mind like a flashback or a déjà vu, and then I forget it again. Like a dream you think you'll remember in the morning, but then it's suddenly gone. So I decided to record all these little memories of Clara in this book as I remember them. I sort of copied the idea from Me and the diaries she uses to record all the events and conversations her little human pudding brain could not retain. This way, even if I forget these memories again, I can still read them and know they've been real. So that next time I'll meet Clara maybe, maybe, I'll be able_ _to recognize her._

The Doctor turns the page, skips a few ones, and reaches the first available blank page. He hesitates a moment to think, ruffling his grey hair. Clara used to mock him about it. He then takes a fountain pen out of the inside pocket of his velvet jacket, and scribbles the galactic date on the top right corner of the page.

Absorbed in his thoughts, he moves a few steps down the staircase, then sit on it and continues writing.

> _Today, I fought off some Sontarans with a bow and a special arrow with a homing device. It was all right. Sontarans and the stupid probic vents in the back of their neck, they'll never learn. Then all of a sudden I remembered why I went looking for Robin Hood with Clara that time. It's because he was her favourite childhood hero, of course. I would have never gone out looking for something so silly if it wasn't for her. For a second, I swear I thought I could still hear her laughs of excitement when we discovered that he was real, but I may have made that up._
> 
> _It was a nice adventure, all in all. I suppose, in the end it just proves that I don't know everything. That I still haven't seen everything. And God, I hate not knowing, but that's quite right too. It means I can keep traveling and learning, and that there's still hope.  
>  _
> 
> _Just before we left, Robin told me that stories are good, even better than history. They can make us fly. Maybe writing this story about Clara is even more important than what really happened. Maybe it's exactly what I need. Cause one thing I know for sure. If stories makes us fly, the one story that makes me fly is Clara. And I'll keep flying for her._

The Doctor closes the book and puts it on the TARDIS console. He walks around it caressing some buttons, but it isn't time to take off for a new adventure yet. He walks to the blackboard and writes a short word with the chalk: _Fly_. With a quick twitch, he underlines it. Then he takes his guitar, moves back to the upper level, sits in his reclining chair, and starts playing his favourite song.

When that music fills the air, he can almost remember what traveling with Clara felt like.

 

* * *

 

 **Author's Notes** : I hope you enjoyed this story. I have quite a few idea for the next entries of Twelve's journal about Clara, so please let me know in the comments if you'd like me to continue this story and what you think of it so far. Thank you for reading.


	2. Dream

**Chapter 2 – Dream**

> _What day is it today? It must be Wednesday. Wednesdays always feel a little bittersweet somehow._
> 
> _Clara would sometimes ask me if I dream. Of course I dream, I would tell her. Everybody dreams. But what do you dream about, she'd ask. The same thing everybody dreams about, I'd tell her. I dream about the people I've met, the people I love, and the people I miss._
> 
> _Tonight I dreamt of Clara._
> 
> _Or at least I think it was her. It's hard to tell, not remembering anything about her looks or personality and all. But I got the impression it was her. I could sort of sense her presence. It's plausible, though, that some memories may escape the neural block during an unconscious state. The things you can do while sleeping are amazing. I should do it more._
> 
> _In the dream, I was abandoning Clara on the Moon. We had a fight over something or other, and I was leaving her, not knowing if she'd survive on her own or not. The idea of not ever seeing her again caused a stabbing pain in my chest so intense that for a second I thought I'd regenerate, and it made me wake up. That pain felt so strong even when I was awake that I knew it couldn't have been just a dream. It must have been a memory._
> 
> _So that's why I decided to have a look. I didn't expect to find her still on the Moon. I know there's no point in looking for her in any of the places we've visited. I know it's silly, but I just had to check._

* * *

The TARDIS lands on the lunar surface with its usual groaning noise. The Doctor, with his orange spacesuit already on, is checking the location of the lading on the monitor, when someone knocks at the door. Four knocks.

The Doctor's eyebrows raise up.

"Hello? Who's there?" he asks, slowly sliding the monitor back in its place and approaching the door.

More knocks.

"Clara?" a hint of hope – or delusion – colours his voice while he puts his hand on the door handle. "Is that you?"

The Doctor opens the door.

"Sco bo tro no flo jo ko fo to to."

A massive Judoon is standing against the black sky.

The Doctor's eyebrows drop down with disappointment.

"Sorry, whatever you're selling, we're not buying."

He slams the door in the Judoon's face, and goes back to the TARDIS console to take his journal. But the knocks continue.

Starting to get irritated, the Doctor returns to open the door, his diary in hand.

"Listen, I don't have time for this right now, I'm a bit busy doing something important, so if you don't mind-"

The deep Judoon's voice thunders over his, "Prepare to be catalogued."

The Judoon takes a red, dumbbell-like scanner out of his pocket and points it to the Doctor's forehead.

"Wha-What are you doing?" the Doctor stops him, moving the scanner away from his head with one hand. "Don't point things at people, it's rude."

For the first time, the Doctor takes a look at the landscape behind the Judoon. And there's one thing clearly out of place.

"Wait, what is that hospital doing up here?"

He steps out of the TARDIS without bothering to wear a helmet, and moves towards the building.

"Of course," he says, starting to sort his memories out, "stupid Doctor. That was Martha, not Clara. I entered the wrong time coordinates."

"Stop," the Judoon orders turning to follow him with his heavy pace, "or you will be charged with crime".

"I'm a few decades early," the Doctor continues talking to himself without paying attention to the command, walking more quickly towards the hospital despite the weight of his bulky spacesuit, "I met Martha here when the Judoon brought this hospital on the Moon to capture that Plasmavore; me and Clara went to the Moon when it was hatching. Stupid, stupid Doctor."

With the Judoon still chasing him, he reaches the building and glances inside through a window.

"At least I landed inside the Judoon's forcefield. Free air and gravity, not bad."

Then he continues walking around the perimeter of the hospital, opening the diary still in his hand to start writing on it.

> _Sadly, my perception of time goes bananas sometimes, so I landed on the Moon too early, at the exact moment when the hospital Martha worked in ended up there because of the Judoons. I just realized that me and Clara were here when the Moon started hatching, and there's still ages before that._
> 
> _So basically right now there's another version of me just a few feet away from me and I could meet him any second causing all sorts of deadly paradoxes. Nice._

The Judoon catches up with the Doctor, and holding him by his shoulder stops him from walking any further.

"Stop."

"Sorry, were you talking to me there?" the Doctor says shrugging, "I wasn't listening."

The Judoon pushes him against the building's wall and shines a blue light on the Doctor's forehead. The Doctor, wide eyed for the shock of the sudden contact, stand pressed against the wall with his arms open, one hand holding his diary firmly, the other grabbing the wall in alarm.

"Prepare to be catalogued or executed"

"Yeah, all right," the Doctor cuts him off abruptly, covering the Judoon's scanner with his hand to block it, "but d'you see the problem? I shouldn't be here. Neither should you. Nor this hospital, actually. Lots of things out of place. It's not a bad idea, though, a hospital on the Moon. I thought they'd open some hotels first, or a shopping mall, to make money from tourists, you know, or from students on a school trip. Maybe even build a school then."

He stops for a moment, his face becoming very serious.

"Oh," he frowns, "I just remembered something."

With a rapid movement, the Doctor sets free from the Judoon's grasp and runs around the corner of the building.

"Sorry, I'm in a hurry!"

The Judoon runs after him, drawing his weapon and trying to aim for the Doctor, but the Time Lord's fast, wobbly pace confuses him.

The Judoon shoots a heat ray at the Doctor but misses him, and the man reaches his TARDIS. He opens the door, and waits on the doorstep for the Judoon to catch up with him.

"You are guilty of escaping," the Judoon's deep voice admonish him. "Sentence, execution."

"Fine," the Doctor replies innocently, "but didn't they tell you? I can't stay still for a moment!"

Grinning like a child, he quickly slips inside the TARDIS and shuts the door in the Judoon's face, then runs to the console and takes off.

The Judoon tries to shoot at the disappearing blue box, but the TARDIS has already flown away.

Inside his time traveling machine, the Doctor can finally catch his breath. He sits on the TARDIS staircase, opens his journal, and goes back to writing.

> _Despite the inconvenience of an angry Judoon trying to kill me, this journey was useful in the end. The sight of the hospital activated some synaptic connection in my brain that made me think about other public buildings like schools, and I remembered that Clara was a teacher. The very reason why we come to the Moon in the first place was to show one of her students that she was special. Pff._
> 
> _Anyway, yes, Clara was a school teacher, I remember now. She was an amazing teacher. It feels obvious and natural. She taught English at Coal Hill, of course, but not only that. She taught me what it means to be a good man. She taught me to believe in impossible things, to care, and to dream. I don't know how, but she did._
> 
> _And even if I don't know her anymore, I'm grateful to her for that._

The Doctor closes his diary and gets back to the TARDIS console. He pushes some buttons and pulls some levers, still deciding where to go next. The run on the Moon has put him in a good mood, and he's more cheerful than before. He almost feels like paying a visit to the Apollo 17 astronauts. Why not? After all, he still got his spacesuit on.

 

* * *

 

 **Author's Notes:** The inspiration for this chapter came not only from Kill the Moon, which is one of my favourite episodes, but mainly from a stargazing event held in one of my hometown's squares, when the street lights were turned off to allow people to look at the stars and Jupiter with the help of some amateur telescopes. It was terribly cloudy, but we could have a perfect view of the Moon, and it was beautiful to look at it close up. It was magical.

I hope you enjoyed this more adventurous chapter, please tell me what you think about it in the comments. Thank you for reading.


	3. Echo

**Chapter 3 – Echo**

The Doctor's journal lies open on the ground, its pages turning quickly. All around it, red and yellow autumn leaves are blowing in the wind. Then, the wind stops, and the diary is left open on the last page written by its ancient owner.

On the page, between the lines of the last paragraph, there's the stain of a drop of water the size of a tear.

> _Today I realized that there must be a gravestone for Clara somewhere. Either Mayor Me or somebody else in Trap Street returned her body to her family, or she was declared missing and then legally dead, her gravestone must be out there somewhere. So I decided to go looking for it._
> 
> _I didn't know where to start, though. So I landed in London – apparently I can't stay away from this dump of a city – and I started checking all graveyards. I hate graveyards. They're full of thing written into stone, and I don't like things written into stone; it's too definitive, too fixed. You can't rip out a gravestone like a page in a book._
> 
> _I tried to figure out where they could have put Clara's gravestone. They could have placed it next to Danny's grave, or maybe next to her mother's. I wonder how Clara's family must feel like after another loss. Actually, I don't even have to use my imagination. I've lost so many people, and I'm so sick of losing._
> 
> _It's autumn here in England. Walking through the cemeteries is like swimming in an ocean of dead leaves, constantly falling and flying and never ever landing. It's quite nice. At least the whirlwind of leaves makes these places look less still. Then at one point a dead leaf flown into my face, and I remembered that Clara used to keep a large red leaf in between the pages of her childhood travel book. It was a token of her parents' love. The most important leaf in human history, so full of stories, too many even for Akhaten to digest. It was like remembering something you've always known but haven't thought about for a long time. And then I noticed it. In the corner of my eye, Clara's name written on a gravestone._
> 
> _It wasn't my Clara's grave, I soon discovered. The dates didn't match up. Also I don't think she had a middle name. "Clara Oswin Oswald. Born November 23 1866, died December 24 1892." Must have been one of her echoes. I think I might have found a version of her in Victorian London once, yes._
> 
> _What the rest of the inscription said really struck me. "Remember me, for we shall meet again." I wish that were true. I have so many questions to ask her, and so many things to say. Theoretically, if Clara's echoes were scattered throughout my timeline, it might mean that some of them ended up in my personal future, and that I'll meet some other version of Clara in the future. Maybe not all of her echoes have died yet and there are still some of them living their lives out there. If I met some of them, although they're just copies, maybe I could rediscover Clara's personality, relearn who she was._
> 
> _But if they were born to save me, literally designed to die so that I could live, it means they'll all end up dying for their purpose in the end. That's horrible and I'm responsible for that. I'm responsible for her death every time she dies. I had a duty of care, she was under my protection, I should have kept her safe, and yet everything I do just keeps killing her over and over again._
> 
> _If I am to meet Clara again only to lose her again, then it's better not to ever meet her at all... How can you grieve the loss of someone you don't remember?_

The Doctor is standing in front of the old, overgrown gravestone, a few inches away from his journal open on the dirty ground. He bends down to face the inscription, brings his hand to his mouth and kisses it, then stretches his hand to touch the letters of the inscription, tenderly caressing the ones composing Clara's name.

After a few moments, he stands up and walks away. He throws a glance back at his journal left on the ground, but decides to leave it there, and walks off. But, as he quits the cemetery, a mysterious woman's hand picks up the journal from the ground.

The Doctor walks slowly along a very busy London road back to his TARDIS, all sorts of vehicles passing by. He looks down at the pavement, his hands are in his pockets, and his mind is too full of thoughts to think of anything. He goes around a corner and approaches the TARDIS waiting at the end of the street. Reaching it, he glimpse a motorbike disappearing in the distance.

He opens the door and steps inside the blue box. The first thing he notices entering is that on the console there's something that shouldn't be there: the journal he left in the graveyard. On the cover someone has left a note written on plain paper. He reaches the console and reads the note: _"You forgot something."_

Smirking, the Doctor opens his diary and looks at the last page he wrote on. A new line has been added to his entry. The handwriting is the same as the note.

> _Don't give up. Not ever. Not for one single day. Be safe, if you can be. But always be amazing._

The Doctor closes his diary and holds it against his chest, thinking. Who returned it to him? Who wrote the message? Deep in his two hearts, he thinks he knows the answer, but he can't dare to word it out loud.

Smiling, he feels his mind freed from a weight. He enters some coordinates and takes off to a new destination, knowing that in some form or another his forgotten companion will always be with him in his hearts.

 

* * *

 

 **Author's notes** : This chapter turned out quite melancholic, but I think it's appropriate to give the Doctor a moment to grieve and feel sad, even if he ultimately doesn't know the reason of all his sadness. I hope you liked this chapter. Who do you think the mysterious woman is? ;) Let me know your opinions on the story so far and your theories in the comments. Thank you all for reading :)


	4. Broken strings

**Chapter 4 - Broken strings**

"Thank you, Doctor," the two identical Osgoods say together.

"Don't mention it, it was good fun," the Doctor replies, shaking some dust off his velvet jacket, now torn at the level of his shoulder. That's what you get from fighting living mannequins that try to blow up a superstore. The jacket that Clara liked, the one he was wearing for her, now needed repairing. So much as the man inside it.

"No, don't say that," the Osgood on the left says, "you always save us and nobody ever thanks you."

"So please," the other Osgood continues, "at least accept our sincere gratitude."

"OK," the Doctor shrugs, with a sad smile on his face, placing his hand inside his jacket to take out his journal. He has another story to write, another adventure he has nobody to share with. No matter how much he tries, he can't bring Clara back again, but doesn't want to replace her and fill the void she has left with anyone either. Not yet.

"You do so much for us, and we do so little for you," the first Osgood says, concerned about the look on the Doctor's face. She remembers how joyful and optimistic he was even in the middle of troubles and great dangers last time she saw him. He had Clara, always cheering him up. But now she is gone, disappeared without any explanations, he doesn't seem to know anything about her, and he looks sadder than he ever looked before.

The Doctor stops for a moment, meditating. There is a possibility he has thought about once or twice before, but never had the courage to pursue. Maybe now he has a chance, maybe that mannequin went rabid in the shop because the universe wanted to give him a chance. He puts his journal back in his inside pocket.

"Well, to be fair," he says, "there is something you could do for me."

* * *

> _Today, I went shopping. I needed a replacement for my broken guitar strings, so I went to central London to look for it. I had just found the perfect strings, when I heard the sound of screaming coming from a nearby store. With great regret, I had to leave my strings in the shop and check out what was going on. People, people, people. Always needing saving._
> 
> _I soon found out the reason of all the screaming. One of the mannequins had come to life and was spreading terror in the shop. It was probably just a leftover from last Nestene Consciousness' attempt to conquer Earth and get control of all its precious plastic, but was causing great havoc nonetheless._
> 
> _I tried to sonic it both with my glasses and my new screwdriver, but it didn't work. Half the store was in flames, the other half was already covered in debris. The Auton wouldn't stop firing. I tried to approach it slowly and tragically failed. I was crushed against a mirror. And in that moment, taking off a piece of glass that had ripped my jacket on the shoulder, something clicked in my mind. I remembered that once I was in Clara's bedroom, and she used to have three mirrors in there. I remembered mocking her about it, saying that her face was too wide to fit in one mirror, pretending I couldn't see how beautiful she was. I don't know what I'd give to see that face once again, to remember why I thought it was so beautiful, to being able to draw her portrait from memory. But I can't, I only see a vague blur when I try to remember how she looked._
> 
> _Then at one point UNIT arrived. They had lots of blasting guns too, so they could reason with the Auton a tad better than me with my harmless devices and high moral principles. Apart from all the soldiers, Kate was there, and Osgood was also there. Both the Osgoods. It's weird, knowing that one of the two once was a megalomaniac terrorist who tried to destroy the whole human race, and now was helping them. It shows that really everybody is capable of both amazing and terrible things, I suppose. Bonnie, she was called. And I remember she had taken Clara's appearance, probably thinking that it would give her an advantage over me, while it turned out to be her greatest weakness. I remember Bonnie, I remember the Zygon invasion, why can't I remember Clara? I could read through her face like an open book, and now I can't even picture it properly._
> 
> _The Auton was giving a hard time even to UNIT forces, but I knew how to finish it all. Moving carefully through the debris, I made my way to the ground floor of the store, away from all the mess. That's where they always put it, the transmitter that controls and powers the Autons. I scanned everything with my sonic glasses, twice to make sure, but couldn't find the transmitter anywhere. Starting to consider the impossible, i.e. being wrong about something, I forced myself to think like a dumb Auton and imagine where else they could have placed the transmitter. I reached the elevator, hoping it was still working, to check the other building floors too. But it wasn't necessary: I found it right there. Next to the elevator camera, another small flashing light gave away the position of the transmitter. Clever location for a transmitter, next to something nobody ever looks towards like an elevator camera. The Autons are getting better, I have to give them that. With a flick of the sonic, the transmitter was turned off and destroyed. And along with it, all the noise coming from the floor above ceased._
> 
> _I returned to the ground floor to meet the Osgoods, who were greeting me cheerfully. And the sight of them, remembering that one of them used to be Clara's double, made me think of an idea I had already indulged on a couple of times before. Could I dare to ask? After all, I had just saved the day, again. They owed me a favour._

* * *

"Which one of you was in the plane with me when we crushed on that beach?" the Doctor asks to the Osgoods.

"Pardon?" they reply at the same time.

"Which one of you told me the new rules about Zygons' link with humans?" the Doctor continues, "the ones about not needing the original to refresh the body print? The ones about being able to wear any face when you've acquired enough information? The ones about pulling faces from memory and wearing them even without an existing link with the original human?"

The Osgoods remain silent, starting to read the Doctor's intentions.

"Was that all true?" the Doctor keeps asking.

"Yes," one of the two identical women finally answers.

"Ok, good," the Doctor nods. "So, next question: which one of you used to be Bonnie?"

"Both of us!" the Osgoods reply harshly.

"Yes, but only one of you is really a Zygon and can help me with this thing," the Time Lord says.

"What are you planning, exactly?" one Osgood asks, while the other stares severely at the Doctor.

"I need one of you to turn back into Bonnie," he explains.

"No," the Osgoods immediately reply.

"I need Zygella back, she's the only connection with Clara I have left, the only link to Clara's time stream still holding. I need Bonnie back so I can plug her into the TARDIS telepathic interface and find where Clara is."

"No!" the Osgoods reply more firmly. "I'm sorry, Doctor," one of them continues, "but whatever happened to Clara, she's gone and she doesn't want to be found, so I can't let you do this. We can't risk bringing Bonnie back for something so silly!"

"OK," he says, looking down, "ignore the telepathic interface part, just turn back into Bonnie for a while, so I can meet her again."

"What use would that be?" one Osgood asks.

"If I could see her again, talk to her, maybe I'd remember something that could help me to..." his voice trailed off.

"Listen, Doctor," the other Osgood says, "Bonnie is just a copy, she's not Clara. You want your friend back, but you won't find her here. Bonnie is just a facade."

"But if I could see her face, her eyes... I'm sure then I would know... what to do," the Doctor replies painfully, covering his mouth with his hand.

"We can't let you meet Bonnie again, sorry," the Osgoods are very determined to stand their ground, "not after everything that happened last time."

They look at the Doctor, his eyes full of deep sadness, anger, grief, and so many unanswered questions. Osgood recognizes those eyes perfectly. They look exactly like her eyes when she lost her sister. And even if now she has a new sister, she will never forget how painful loosing her first sister was, and she can understand what the Doctor means perfectly. Sympathy grows inside her heart, when she finally agrees to give something to the old man.

"You can't meet Bonnie," she says, "but we could arrange something different."

* * *

> _Of course, right when I asked them I knew how they would react. It's how I would have reacted too. They would have never agreed to something so risky and pointless, and in all honesty the telepathic interface idea was a bit too wibbly wobbly even for me. It would have never worked. But they still agreed to give me something, which I didn't expect. Something so little, but so precious to me._
> 
> _The Osgood pair was so kind to give me a little present, something small and meaningless for most, but that can offer me a little comfort during my long journeys alone._
> 
> _I wanted a copy of Clara, an image of her because the real thing can never come back to me, and in the end I sort of got what I wanted. The reason I was looking for a copy of Clara was to finally know what is it that I miss about her so much. I probably won't ever really know, but now I think I have a clearer idea._
> 
> _At least now I can look into her big eyes again._

* * *

The Doctor is back in his TARDIS, alone, but he doesn't look sad anymore. He is holding a Polaroid photo in his hands, looking intently at the young woman in the picture. Clara. Or at least someone who looks exactly like her, a perfect copy. Her round face, with that funny nose, is so familiar to the old Time Lord, yet so unknown. He can't stop looking at her eyes. Her big, expressive eyes which he has seen show all sorts of emotions he can't remember.

That's Osgood's present. The Zygon one of the pair changed her appearance back to Bonnie, Clara's identical copy, and snapped a quick photo of herself. Not in front of the Doctor, but in private, because the real identity of the Osgoods is a secret shared only between the two sisters, and they cannot allow to recall or linger on anything that regarded their previous life, before they became more than just human or Zygon, but a living embodiment of peace. They had to leave their past behind to protect the treaty, and could make a little exception only for someone so important as the Doctor.

One of the Osgood changed her face and wore Clara's just for a few seconds, only the time necessary for the other one to take a picture of her face to give to the Doctor as a memory of one of the most important periods of his life. Then she changed back, and when they returned to the Doctor they were both looking like Osgood again.

For the Doctor, the photo is enough to go on a little longer, when maybe the inexplicable void in his chest will be less piercing. He takes a piece of sellotape out of his bigger-on-the-inside pocket, and sticks the photo at the corner of the monitor on the TARDIS console. From there, Clara will always be able to look at him during all of his travels.

Maybe he won't be able to bring her back, but now he's sure that a part of Clara will always accompany him everywhere he goes for the rest of his endless life.

 

* * *

 

 **Author's notes** : The title of the chapters is inspired by James Morrison's song 'Broken Strings', which I find sort of appropriate for the Doctor and Clara's story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, I liked writing for Osgood a lot, she's one of my favourite characters. Do you think the Doctor's plan to connect Bonnie to the TARDIS telepathic interface to find Clara would have worked? Let me know your thoughts on this chapter in the comments. Thank you for reading, see you soon :)


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